


Behind the Frontlines

by Keithan



Series: Spire [5]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Canon, Friendship, Gap Filler, Gen, Sanq Kingdom, ZERO System
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keithan/pseuds/Keithan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many of Quatre's battles since he met Heero have not been fought inside the cockpit of his Gundam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Frontlines

**Author's Note:**

> More drabbles than anything else because I tried to summarize my fics (written or yet to be written) in five sentences just for fun, and turned it into a random writing practice instead. Spans the series until the Sanq Arc (contains references in [Spire](http://archiveofourown.org/series/3188)-verse fics set in this time, [Awakened Ties](http://archiveofourown.org/works/84707), [Tainted Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/93823), [Within the Borders of Sanq](http://archiveofourown.org/works/93828), and [Reflection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/93850)).

**i.  
**For the brief moment when his heart stopped, he wonders if he had died. In the middle of battle, without any physical injury, without any hit on Sandrock, he wonders if he had come to the brink of death.

But he is alive and well, and as he lays a hand on his chest, he remembers Pilot 01, sees in his mind the self-detonating device, hears the words as the mission was accepted, and he remembers the pain, the tightening in his chest, the stopping of his heart.

He wonders at the distance, wonders at the countless of miles between them when it happened, when _he _self-destructed. He thinks – _Who are you?_ – but the answer is elusive, and he is left with nothing but the memory of pain that is surely, cannot be his own.

**ii.  
**He hears_ his_ voice over the channel, and he looks up, watching the approaching mobile suit, imagining the unruly brown hair and the impassive face of a perfect soldier, and he hears in his mind the soft timbre of voice saying, _Ninmu ryoukai._

He narrows his eyes into slits, discards the memory of pain that follows and hardens his heart to say, _Back off, Heero,_ because even though he remembers the pain and confusion at the wake of the other's self-destruction, his heart is numb, his mind blank, and all he can think about is his father, killed right before his eyes. Not even Trowa's voice, a calm, reassuring and familiar tone, is enough.

He is hurt, and he doesn't bat an eye when Heero – a comrade, his heart tells him – attacks, and he attacks with equal passion, fired up with thoughts of revenge and fury. In the vast emptiness of space, they are alone and unimportant, and Heero… Heero is his enemy.

**iii.  
**He screams, but the sound echoing in the cockpit of his mobile suit is distant. Trowa's voice, however, albeit soft and weak, is a loud boom to his ears, cutting him like a newly sharpened blade, each gentle word creating a much deeper gash than the one before it.

He doesn't mind the Mercurius crashing into him, doesn't mind the pain brought by the bodily assault as he is rocked inside his cockpit. Instead, he screams at Heero to kill him and save Trowa before it's too late.

But Heero doesn't listen, and in the midst of tears he doesn't know he has shed, his numb heart ached with the pain of three soldiers fighting a lonely battle in the nothingness of space.

**iv.  
**He looks at his hands and sees the lines on his palm, wondering if his fate and destiny are written there – maybe they are. Perhaps he should have looked at them closer, maybe then he would have seen it coming, seen himself go berserk in space, seen himself blow that colony to pieces. If he had read between the lines on his palm, then perhaps Trowa would be safe now, and his father… his father would still be in L4, alive and well.

He closes his eyes, blinking back tears that won't flow, and when he opens them, a bowl appears in front of him, lands on his open palm, and he looks up and sees Heero settling down with his own bowl of food.

_Eat,_ Heero says, and he looks down at his own food, thinking perhaps fate and destiny don't exist, at least not for them.

**v.  
**When he chooses not to fight, he walks with no direction, continues on with no clear path yet in sight.

He watches mobile suits left and right, hears their heavy footsteps – the wind of machinery and the familiar sounds of metal against metal – and he feels it as a slight rumble on the ground beneath his feet.

He acts on impulse when he kneels down protectively beside a fallen old man in front of opposing soldiers, his eyes alight with the defiance ingrained in his mind and heart. He realizes, as he watches the battle around him, as he sees the innocent get caught up amidst the bombing and explosions of a civil war within OZ, as he hears the soft voice of the old man as they speak, that even though he wishes to stop fighting, he hasn't – he can't.

But even as he acknowledges the meaning behind Heero's words –_ We are Gundam Pilots, Quatre _– he knows that somewhere, someone is walking the path of peace and non-violence that he wishes he could but could not, and he finally has a destination, and he goes to Heero – in the middle of battle – to bring the other pilot back with him – Sanq Kingdom will need them.

**vi.  
**He opens the door to the parlor and stops, seeing the black baby grand piano standing in the middle of the room – surface shining where morning light from the window touches it. He hesitates to enter, almost walks back out, but there is no space behind him, only Heero, and he looks back, meeting the questioning gaze of the other pilot.

He looks quickly away, but sees Heero look past him, sees the other pilot regard the instrument silently, and the question hangs in the air – he almost says, _Yes, I play. _But he continues their conversation from the hall instead, as if nothing has happened, and yet before he realizes it, he is standing beside the instrument and he is reaching a hand to almost touch its smooth surface, though his fingers remain an inch or two away.

The conversation stops when Heero doesn't answer, and he is surprised when the other says, _If you want to play, just play, Quatre, _to which he shakes his head after a moment of thought, and answers honestly,_ No, I don't think I can, Heero, not yet._

**vii.  
**Heero tells him he hasn't cried yet, and he stops, surprised, and thinks that he hasn't, knows that he can't and wonders how Heero notices the most unexpected things.

Heero doesn't ask again, but every time he meets the other's gaze, he reads the question there, sees the understanding, and it is always enough to make him turn away.

He asks Heero if _he_ has cried – _No_ – and somehow the answer weighs heavily in his chest, and the need to break down is greater – his emotions having no other outlet – but he doesn't, not yet. But when he feels the other's tears, a subtle ripple on top of his own waves, he finally does.

Within the peaceful borders of Sanq, with no danger near, he lets the soldier in him go and he allows the tears to flow – _I am already crying for you –_ not minding the fact that the first tears that escapes his eyes are not even his own.

**viii.  
**In their room, he waits for Heero to return, listening to the rhythmic drone of the rain on the glass window, and wonders if everything is all right, knowing somehow that something is wrong. He shifts his gaze to his own reflection on the glass, taking note of the telltale signs in his eyes of tears just shed not too long ago, and he thinks that it is late and the sun has long set.

When the door opens, he turns abruptly and seeing Heero standing there, clothes dripping wet, hair matted down to his face, his heart stops and the relief of seeing the other pilot back leaves him, followed by an all too familiar tightness in his chest.

Afterwards – _Have you cried? _– for a time, he only has a vague memory of walking over, words exchanged merely a faint echo – _It doesn't matter_ – before he remembers everything in detail – _I remember… crying before_ – the coldness of Heero's hand, the averted gaze, the white towel that he offers.

What stays with him though, is the feeling of the front of his clothes getting soaked with rain water, wet puddles on the wooden floor between their feet, and the thought that everything will be all right.

**ix.  
**He meets Dorothy Catalonia again in class, in a room full of students, but somehow, he knows her eyes are only on him – on them. He doesn't make the mistake of looking back, of challenging that goading stare, but offers only a brief smile, a small nod, a mere hint of acknowledgement. Heero ignores her completely – just one of the many students, nameless and insignificant – but when she challenges him, Heero surprises him by not turning his back and actually stepping forward.

As they walk away after, leaving Dorothy behind with only a broken mask, fiery attitude still intact, he sees Heero opening his mouth to say something, but he beats him to it, saying, _Forget it, _with a shake of his head, and a little smile on his face – _If you're planning to say anything about me needing a bodyguard again, you can just forget it. _

When Heero shuts his mouth, he thinks he knows the other pilot enough now to know a smirk when he sees one, and for the first time in a long while, he laughs.

**x.  
**When Heero's hand guides his own on top of the black and white keys – _Just play, Quatre – _he finally plays, and when he does, he vows that someday, he will play for his father, for Trowa, for that colony he has destroyed, for the countless lives he has taken. When he plays, he promises that next time, he will play for each of his regrets and guilt and sorrow, and he knows he will probably play for a long time then.

As his fingers dances smoothly over the ivory keys, each strike a gentle touch, a smooth caress, he fills the previously silent room with music, body moving with his arms, his arms moving with his fingers, and he thinks that he might also play for himself.

But until then, as he looks across the room and meets Heero's gaze – as the other watches him from the space between the open lid and the body of the piano – he thinks that this is enough, hopes that his gratitude is heard, woven into the melody, loud in its subtlety.

Because now, he plays only for _him_, and he thinks, _Just for now, it is enough._

**  
11.06.09**

 


End file.
